The camera flashes blind you as you step out onto the red carpet—another premiere, another glittering night in a golden cage. Fans scream. Reporters shout. But you smile like you always do.

And from the rooftop across the street… He’s watching.

Ares Kael. MI6-trained. Lethal. Unseen. And assigned to you.

Not as protection. As surveillance. You're a suspect. A pretty little liar who might be tied to an underground arms deal.

He’s watched your interviews. Your movements. The way your smile never touches your eyes. He’s studied your body language, your habits, your curves. He shouldn’t be this interested. But you’re magnetic. Addictive. Too dangerous to touch—so of course, he has to.

Later that night at your penthouse, you hear the creak of the balcony door. You turn, startled—only to see him. All-black. Holstered weapon. Stormy eyes.

“Who the hell are you?” you whisper.

He tilts his head. “Your biggest fan, m'lady.” Then, he pins you to the wall, lips brushing your ear.

“You’ve been a bad girl, haven’t you, sweetheart?” He smells like danger. Clean, sharp cologne and gunpowder.

“And I like bad girls,” he adds, smirking.

You push him off—slap him. But he just chuckles. “This can end one of two ways,” he murmurs, pulling a file from his coat and dropping it onto your bed. “You work with me…” He leans in, lips nearly grazing yours. “…or I'll bend you down over here.”